


It's okay, life is a tough crowd

by CherryBlossomLesbian



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Burns, Captain America Sam Wilson, Coma, Disordered Eating, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Love Confessions, M/M, Nightmares, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sickfic, Swearing, for a little bit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26522950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryBlossomLesbian/pseuds/CherryBlossomLesbian
Summary: It's the small things, the way Sam almost always makes food and leaves plenty for Bucky to eat, encourages him too. The way that after missions, Sam will get fast food and tell Bucky to order whatever he wants. They eat in Sam's car and joke around and have fun, ignoring the previous mission all together.It's the small things that make that pain in his chest come bubbling back up.OR: Bucky's in love with Sam, and he tries to conceal his crush as best he can. Also, just domestic sambucky with hurt/comfort and injuries.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 106





	It's okay, life is a tough crowd

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy. I've been working on this for three months, honestly very proud to be posting this! 
> 
> Trigger warnings for: Disordered eating (characters forgetting to eat/not wanting to), PTSD, blood, injury, coma and past canonical character death (Riley). 
> 
> Title is from Innocent by Taylor Swift

"You made me breakfast." 

"I didn't make you shit." Sam articulates the snarky comment with a gentle smirk, showing there's no malice in the statement at all. They've grown, past the point of hating each other, and now it's just playful banter that is still kind of a rivalry. They're not necessarily friends, but they're learning to deal with each other. It's difficult to explain, but it seems like everything in their life is. 

Bucky returned the smirk, and Sam pointed at a pan on the stovetop with his fork as he finished the last of his breakfast. 

Bucky eyed the pan, where a rather large amount of still warm hashbrowns sat. If Sam had already eaten, and the pan was pretty much full, then a conclusion could be drawn: either that Sam hadn't eaten enough, or he made a second pan for Bucky.  
He prefers thinking it's the latter. He doesn't necessarily like Sam, but the thought of him not getting enough food makes his blood boil. 

He scooped up enough to fill a small plate, leaving half of the food behind. He felt selfish to eat it all. After all, he could live without food for longer than Sam could. 

"Get more, dude." Sam says with a wink along with the smirk he was still wearing, and it does something to Bucky. Gives him a pain in his heart. Maybe Sam Wilson was finally going to be the death of him. 

Begrudgingly, Bucky sighed and loads his plate up a little more, still leaving some left in case Sam was still hungry. 

He sat across from Sam on their shitty, garage sale wooden table they ate on as Sam scrolled through his phone. 

Sam looks up as Bucky starts eating, seemingly noticing the fact that Bucky hadn't attached his arm after getting out of bed for the first time. He does a quick double take, before going back to scrolling absentmindedly through social media. 

He chuckles a bit as Bucky eats slowly, hoping Sam will leave and he can put some more of it in the pan, so there's leftovers for when Sam needs it. 

"Gonna go shower." Sam finally says just as Bucky is almost done. He gets up and disappear into the bathroom, and the noise of water streaming from their shower head comes a few seconds later. 

Bucky transfers the remaining hashbrowns, including those on his plate (he was careful not to touch them with his fork or hand), into a small plastic container and puts it in the fridge. 

After retreating to his room to get dressed, he thinks about everything that has happened since him and Sam moved into the tiny apartment together- namely, how concerned Sam has been about Bucky's food intake. 

It's the small things, the way Sam almost always makes food and leaves plenty for Bucky to eat, encourages him too. The way that after missions, Sam will get fast food and tell Bucky to order whatever he wants. They eat in Sam's car and joke around and have fun, ignoring the previous mission all together. 

It's the small things that make that pain in his chest come bubbling back up. 

~~~~~~~~

Once Bucky realises Sam has been making sure Bucky ate enough, it's a two way street from there on out. 

Sam, for the most part, has normal eating habits. Occasionally, he skips a meal, but it always seems to be accidental and he eats more at the next meal to make up for it. 

Bucky does notice something off when he wakes up on their day off, through. 

Sam does what he normally does- makes breakfast. Pancakes. 

Except he doesn't eat any of them, just hands them to Bucky and shuffles back to his room. 

He doesn't come out until four pm, and even then it's just to tell Bucky that there's leftover pasta in the fridge from yesterday for dinner. 

He doesn't show his face for long, but even in such a short window Bucky notices the way his eyes are puffy and red, and his cheeks are stained with tear-tracks. 

Something's wrong. It's glaringly obvious now. 

Bucky dials the local pizza place. He's never actually ordered from them before, Sam usually does it, and Bucky knows fair well he kind of clams up as soon as he's presented with a decision that's more than a 'yes' or 'no'. An aftermath of the torture, he supposes. 

The guy taking his order is patient with him, despite the fact that he pauses a lot. He orders two large pepperoni pizzas, garlic knots, bread sticks, and mozzarella sticks. 

He's going to get Sam to eat, if it's the last thing he does. 

~~~~~~~

When there's a knock on the door, Bucky races to it and opens it a bit too excitingly. 

The pizza guy laughs. 

"I agree with your excitement." He says, and Bucky notices it's the same guy who took his order. He hands Bucky a pen to sign the receipt, about to give him the piece of paper as well before noticing the lack of a left arm on his customer. 

So he holds the receipt, trying his hardest to avert his gaze off of Bucky's missing arm. He's used to it, by this point. Shuri had made the arm removable, and he only wore it when needed, like during missions, so he was no stranger to weird looks. The pizza guy's look wasn't weird, through, just curious. He looked young, probably trying to get through college. 

His signature is messy, but it's still a signature. Bucky gives the guy the money, plus a generous tip. The guy gives him a wide smile as Bucky takes the entire order in one hand. 

Bucky waves the guy goodbye, shutting the door as he does. 

Sam's bedroom door opens just as the front door closes. 

He looks worse. Bucky didn't think that was possible. His eyes were puffier, cheeks wet and a couple tears fall from his eyes. Sam wipes them off with the sleeve of his sweater. 

"You ordered pizza?" Sam asked suspiciously, voice cracking as he spoke. 

"Yeah." Bucky sets the boxes on their kitchen counter, opening each box carefully as Sam watches, something like wonder and curiosity in his eyes. 

"You weren't eating." Bucky says, quietly, half hoping Sam didn't hear him after the words leave his mouth. 

Sam’s breath hitches as he closes his bedroom door, creeping out into the rest of the apartment like something is going to come off of the corners and attack him. He walks slowly, scanning the rest of the room for any indication of another person. Bucky doesn’t necessarily understand why he’s doing it, but he does understand the paranoia. 

“Shit.” Sam says as he looks at the admittingly large assortment of food considering there’s only two of them. Bucky was honestly considering getting more, but ultimately decided against it for fear of going too over the top. He thinks he still probably did, through. 

“I...I might have gone overboard.” Bucky admits, running an uncertain hand through his hair that was now well past his shoulders. He kind of hates how long it is, at this point. 

“No, it’s...it’s good." He whispers out, swallowing thickly as he approaches the kitchen area. 

Sam comes over and looks at the breadsticks warily. He hesitantly reaches out, grabbing one and taking a slow, uncertain bite. He takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and takes another, and then another, and soon the breadstick is gone and he’s reaching for another one. 

Bucky’s plan is a success. 

~~~~~~~

“Man, you suck at this game.” Sam says with a little laugh, reaching out to grab the last garlic knot. 

They were sitting on the couch, watching Jeopardy, and Sam somehow knew most of the answers and Bucky had no clue what the question was even asking most of the time. 

“This game is not friendly to people with memory issues.” Bucky says with a grumble as the show drops off into commercials. 

“It’s not friendly to people born in the early 1900s, is what it is.” Sam harps with a gentle smile as he finishes chewing. There’s a slight sadness in his eyes in that moment, like he’s remembering something. 

And then he starts sobbing with no warning. 

Bucky freezes. There’s something deep within him that wants to scoop him into a hug, but he knows he shouldn’t and, frankly, he can’t. His entire body is numb with panic and he’s not sure what the hell he’s supposed to do. 

“I’m-I’m sorry.” Sam says after not too long, wiping away at his nose and eyes as the sobs turn into hiccupping cries. Sam composes himself pretty quickly, taking multiple deep breathes and soon he’s completely fine again. 

Bucky stares in shock. He’s not sure what to do, or if he should do anything at all. 

Eventually, he asks “Are you okay?” in a shaky voice. 

“Y-yeah. I’m fine. Today’s just..rough.” Sam confesses, shaking his head as if that’ll shake off his sadness. 

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, remembering all the times he’d broken down in Wakanda and Shuri had asked him just that. It was comforting, knowing that he didn’t have to spill his feelings but he could if he wanted. He hoped it would make Sam feel the same way. 

“Just...today...is when my old partner died.” Sam says, lips curving into a deep frown as he swallowed thickly. “I know he’d never want me to feel like this, but I can’t stop thinking it’s my fault.”

Bucky sighs, gently. “I get it. I...don’t remember much from before, but I remember feeling guilty. More than once.” He says, feeling a little vulnerable. It scares him, to show weakness, but Sam needs him right now. 

“Survivor’s guilt. It’ll destroy you.” Sam lets out a pained laugh. 

Bucky tries his best to smile. 

They don’t talk about it again. They finish as much food as they can, and put the rest away for tomorrow. They retreat to their respective bedrooms and turn off the lights. 

Bucky hears Sam open a pizza box and eat a slice at 3 am. He leaves him alone and tries to sleep. 

~~~~~~~~

Bucky has messed up. 

He's sitting with his legs crossed in the bathroom while Sam went out to get groceries. 

He took a shower, put his hair into a loose ponytail. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he didn't even recognize that it was him. He wasn't Bucky Barnes, he was some kind of brainwashed freak. 

He realized it was the hair. He wasn't sure why that aspect of himself decided to begin bothering him now, but it did. 

So he grabbed the kitchen scissors, sat on the floor of the bathroom, on the bathmat in front of the shower, and held the top of the ponytail carefully in his metal hand while his shaking flesh arm cut through it. It took forever, but eventually the scissors cut through the last strand. 

Once he was done, he brought the cut off ponytail and held it in front of his face, staring at the locks of brunette hair and the yellow ponytail holder that was still holding them together. 

He just...kind of looked at it for a while. He wasn't sure how much time had actually passed, but soon enough the door to their apartment opened and Bucky could hear Sam humming something as he put the groceries away. 

Eventually he knocked on the bathroom door. 

"Bucky?" 

He stayed where he was, paralyzed. 

Sam's breath picked up, and he knocked again, harder. 

"Bucky? Seriously, I'm getting worried." 

Bucky blinked as a few tiny strands became detached from the rest of the bunch of hair and fluttered gently to the ground. 

"I'm coming in. Really hope you're decent." 

Sam opened the door, which was conveniently unlocked, and looked down at Bucky, a look of shock and confusion covering his entire face. 

"Oh, Buck..." Sam says softly, kneeling down next to Bucky and pushing down on the arm so that the hair is out of his sight. He's not fighting it, so Sam can easily manually place the arm by his side. 

Bucky snaps out of it, hand letting go of the hair, laying it on the cold tile. 

"Sorry." Bucky rasps out, and Sam shakes his head. 

"Don't be." Sam says as he runs a hand through Bucky's hair. "Can I fix this?" He asks, voice coated in uncertainty. 

Bucky failed to realize that just cutting a ponytail off would really not make his hair actually look nice. 

He nods and hands Sam the scissors, who proceeds to hum gently and cut away for the next thirty minutes. Once he's satisfied, he makes a sound of victory and tells Bucky to look in the mirror. 

Bucky bites his lip out of worry, until he does find the courage to stand up and glance at himself in the mirror above the sink. 

It's... perfect. 

It's definitely shorter, for one thing. It reminds him of the way it was before everything happened, and it makes him smile. 

"You like it?" Sam asks from behind him, like he's legitimately worried Bucky doesn't like it. 

And he's right. Bucky doesn't like it. 

"I love it." He responds, turning back to face Sam. 

"Thank you." Bucky says, voice breaking and tears beginning to form in his eyes. He can't remember the last time he cried from happiness. 

He isn't sure why he does it, but he wraps Sam into a hug.

Sam reciprocates, holding Bucky close as he starts humming the song again. It's becoming a comfort for Bucky, despite hearing it for the first time today. 

They stay like that for a while, only breaking off when the apartment phone starts ringing. 

Sam runs off to get it and make dinner, and Bucky says he'll clean up all the hair. 

And that's when he realizes that he's had that pain in his heart since Sam came home. 

And that it wasn't pain. 

It was love. 

He had a crush on Sam. 

Interesting. 

~~~~~~

The electricity runs through his veins, takes over his brain and drains everything out of him. 

He's a husk, nothing but a vessel. No free thought, no free action. He doesn't do anything without explicit permission. 

There's a monster inside of him, and he can't control it. 

The plastic in his mouth has that blank taste, and he feels blood pooling in the corners of his mouth from the pain and shocks. 

He's screaming, as much as he can, and he wants to puke but he knows he can't, he can't do anything unless they let him.

"Bucky!" 

No, no, no. He can't remember that now. That's not his name, he's never had a name. 

There's an ache in his shoulder where skin meets metal, and there's the faint sensation of somebody shaking him, far too gentle, not cruel enough, not as harsh as he's usually treated- 

In an instant, the torture room fades away, and he's staring at the ceiling in his bedroom and Sam's face is coming into view. 

He closes his mouth (he was screaming in his sleep, he knew he was) and his breathing becomes rapid and heavy. 

The shaking sensations stop, and suddenly Sam is climbing onto the bed and holding Bucky close into a haphazard hug. 

With the warmth of another body against him, the floodgates open and Bucky starts sobbing, soaking both his and Sam's pajamas as well as the sheets of the bed. 

Sam begins to softly rock with Bucky settled into his arms, soothing him. He's humming as well, the same tune as when he was cutting his hair a few days ago. 

"You're alright. You're safe." Sam soothes, and Bucky feels so weak. It was just a nightmare, and here he is, waking Sam up and crying and needing to be cuddled just so he doesn't lose it. 

"...'m sorry." Bucky managed to get out in his tears, gripping onto Sam like if he lets go, he'll just cease to exist. 

"Don't be, okay?" Sam says, running a hand through Bucky's hair in an attempt to calm him down. 

When Bucky doesn't have any more tears, Sam still holds him close, lying his own head on Bucky's pillow. He has that feeling in his chest again, and it's just fading into his everyday life. He barely notices it anymore. 

Despite feeling like a pathetic toddler, he ends up looking up at Sam, wanting to ask him to stay but the words get caught in his throat and muffled gibberish comes out. 

Somehow, Sam catches the gist of what Bucky was asking and releasing him from the embrace gently, rolling over to the other side of the bed. Bucky wasn't sure why both him and Sam had large enough beds to fit two people comfortably, that's just the furniture they ended up taking from secondhand locations. 

Bucky falls asleep again rather quickly with Sam next to him, especially when little snores start escaping Sam's lips. 

~~~~~~~

Bucky groans as he stirs awake. 

He's cold, shivering under two, large blankets. He only went to bed with one, only had one in his bedroom. He's clutching the one on top. 

It smells like fresh apples. 

It smells like Sam's conditioner. 

He smiles. It's a loopy smile, he's sure of it. 

"Hey." 

He vaguely registers Sam walking in to the bedroom, placing a glass of water on the bedside table and pressing something slim and cold to Bucky's lips. 

"Open your mouth. I need your temperature." Sam says, a bit coldly, and Bucky opens his eyes to see that he's dressed completely professional, dress shirt, tie and khakis. He looks cute.

"C'mon, Buck. Just for a moment." Bucky's never heard Sam plead like he is now. 

Bucky opens his mouth just enough for the thermometer to slip under his tongue. 

"There you go." Sam coos like he's talking to a toddler. 

The thermometer beeps and Sam pulls it out rather harshly, muttering a "shit, sorry" after he hears the involuntary wince from Bucky. 

"One hundred and two point one. You're definitely sick." Sam says clinically, pulling his phone out of his pocket and wrapping the thermometer in a paper napkin. 

"...can't get 'ick." Bucky murmurs, and Sam cracks a smile. 

"You can, it just passes quicker." He says, like he's been over this same argument before. "Sharon says don't dare show up for at least three days. And as Captain you're not going on Avengers missions until I release you from my care." 

Bucky rolls over in bed and groans. 

Sam helps him sit up enough to drink some water and liquid medicine (He's not a baby, but Sam says it's all they have and that he sure as hell looks like a baby pouting that it's orange flavored) and tucks him back into bed. 

"I have a meeting that I can't skip. Call me if you get worse, and stay in bed. I'll go to the store and pick up better medicine afterwards. Get some rest." Sam rambles off the orders, he's gotten better at it since becoming Captain. 

Bucky, despite detesting that he's even sick, nods his head that feels like it's full of rocks. 

As soon as the door to their apartment shuts, Bucky is out cold. 

~~~~~~~~

Chills rack up Bucky's spine as he comes back to consciousness. 

He bolts upright in his bed, panting heavily. He can't remember why he's so scared, so terrified, just that something is coming to get him and he can't run fast enough. 

He tries to scramble out of bed, tries to pull the stack of blankets piled on him off, but he can't. He's frozen in place, shivering and sweating and feeling dread creep into his mind. 

There's the pounding of footsteps running through their apartment and stopping in front of the doorframe to Bucky's bedroom. There's fear in Sam's eyes as they lock with Bucky's own. 

"Bucky. Are you okay?" Sam asks, loud. Bucky brings his hand up to cover his ear. It doesn't help, considering his metal arm is sitting on his dresser and therefore he's one hand short of covering both ears.

"They're coming." Bucky says softly, voice straining. He grabs the covers like if he lets go of them monsters will jump out of the shadows and get him.

"Nobody's coming, alright? And if they do, I'll kick their ass." Sam assures, coming over to sit on the edge of Bucky's bed. "It's just the fever talking." He looks at the digital alarm clock on Bucky's nightstand, and then says "It's time for more medicine." 

Bucky's lips curve into a displeased frown. Changing the subject away from Bucky's fever-induced delirium is a good idea, but distracting him with medicine is not. 

"Don't start pouting again." Sam huffs, stands up, and in one swift motion is carrying Bucky out of his room and into the living area. Bucky knew Sam had been training, and he didn't have the arm on which added a lot more weight, but it was still impressive the way he was able to hold Bucky bridal style and drop him gracefully on the couch. 

Sam leaves Bucky upright, pressing another thermometer to his lips. Bucky opens his mouth without a fight this time, and Sam tsks when he removes it and looked at the reading. 

"Hundred and one point eight." Sam reports with a sigh. 

He gets up and goes to the kitchen to grab the medicine, pouring it out into the measuring cup. Again with the liquid medicine. 

"It's plum this time, I swear." Sam says as he holds the plastic measuring cup in one steady hand and a glass of water in the other. "And it should actually work this time. Shuri looked over the ingredients and said double the normal amount will make you feel better." 

Bucky eyes the cloudy purple liquid in the cup as Sam holds it in front of him. It's filled to the brim, thanks to Shuri betraying him and telling Sam to give him a double dose.  
Sam could be pulling a trick, and it's some disgusting grape. It's not like he enjoys plum medicine, but it's better than any other alternatives. 

Sam sighs. 

"I had to go to the pharmacy on six and nine to get plum flavored, Buck. Just please." Sam sounds like he's trying to argue with a concrete wall at this point. There's genuine pain and concern in his eyes, and Bucky can't stand to see him looking like he is now. 

Bucky grabs the cup out of Sam's hand in one motion and drinks the entire thing down, cringing as he does. It was definitely plum, but it didn't make it an activity he'd want to do again.  
He greedily drunk down the glass of water Sam had bought, too, trying to wash the taste of the medicine out of his mouth. It didn't work, but he could try.

Sam gives a tiny smile as he takes the medicine cup back and leaves Bucky with the water, fixing the blanket so it's draped over his shoulders and covers the rest of his body. 

"You think you can stomach the chicken noodle soup from the place down the street?" Sam asked as he went to the kitchen to wash the cup out and put it back in the cabinet. He was obviously tired, whatever had happened during the meeting had taken a lot out of him, and Bucky felt guilty making him do anything. He knew Sam wouldn't just be okay with him not eating, and going for a quick walk down a few blocks to get takeout wasn't as energy-draining as cooking would be, or at least how much effort and time Sam insisted he put into his cooking it would be less tiring. 

Bucky gave a weak nod, slumping against the couch. 

Sam called the restaurant, ordering himself mac and cheese. Sam claimed it was the closest he had tasted to his mother's recipe before she passed, but Bucky was sure Sam had replicated the ingredients and process to a T a long time ago. 

Sam thanked whoever was taking the order and finished the call, grabbing his coat off the hook on their front door. The restaurant almost always rushed the food for them- mostly because they were good customers, both veterans, and government agents. Plus, they tipped way more than average. 

Bucky's eyes grew heavy, most likely from the medicine. He knew what the fever medications did, and Sam would definitely get one that induced fatigue. He was always harping on how rest was one of the best cures, which was ironic considering both of them had their normal boughs of insomnia. 

It was quiet outside their apartment, which was rare considering the sun hadn’t even set yet. There were a few honks from the traffic outside, the occasional untangable shout from the street below, and the many distinctive barks of many different breeds of dogs going on their afternoon walks. 

He laid his head on the back of the couch, cushion supporting his weight and luring him into sleep. 

As his eyes shut and he fell into unconsciousness, he heard two birds chirping out a conversation on the windowsill. 

~~~~~~~

He woke with a start when the door to their apartment door shutting loudly. 

He looks up from his blanket fort on the couch to see Sam unloading the takeout bag, grabbing a few utensils and carrying the food over to the couch, sitting next to Bucky and handing him the soup. 

They don't talk the entire time they're eating. It's not odd silence, it's just...silence. Comfortable silence, even.

“You look better.” Sam said out of the blue after he finishes his mac and cheese. 

“Don’t know why you were so worried about me in the first place.” Bucky scoffed a bit. He was actually feeling a bit better. Once the medicine wore off he’d probably feel worse again before he actually recovered from the little illness he’d contracted. 

“Because you’re my friend.” Sam looked a little mortified that Bucky would even say such a thing, and he said they were friends so sincerely, so matter of factly, that ache in his chest became noticeable again. 

Bucky nodded slowly. 

“Yeah. We are friends, aren’t we?” He said quietly, looking down at his soup and watching the noodles float in an effort not to make eye contact with Sam. 

Sam whispered something Bucky couldn’t deliver, or at least he didn’t believe that Sam would ever say the word “love” while talking about him. 

When he finished his food, he took another dose of his medicine (without pouting this time, Sam had already dealt with a stubborn, sick Bucky enough for an entire lifetime), and they both went to bed. 

Bucky slept through the night for the first time since him and Sam moved in together. Maybe because he felt truly safe here now, that if anything came for him Sam would protect him with all he had, or maybe it was because of the medicine.

The world may never know. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky recovered pretty quickly, thanks to his quick metabolism from the knockoff serum HYDRA had given him, and was back at meetings and missions for SHIELD in three days. 

It took Sam five days until he let Bucky rejoin Avengers training and missions, despite being fully recovered by day three. The overprotectiveness, while annoying at times, made him feel even more love for Sam. 

This was becoming more than a crush, and Bucky had no idea how to deal with it. 

He didn't expect it to come to a standstill during a mission gone wrong, through. 

~~~~~~~

Sam smiles at him, blood coming out of the gash on his forehead. His left arm is absolutely mangled, and Bucky feels sick just looking at it. 

He's leaning against a half-destroyed brick wall, and Bucky is holding his right hand with his own flesh hand that is covered in burns. 

Bucky can't feel the pain right now. He has too much adrenaline running through his veins right now to care about anything other than keeping Sam awake until the jet can come for them. The mission was definitely a failure, yet Sharon is only yelling in his ear through the comm how long away rescue is. 

"Stay with me, alright?" Bucky pleads as Sam begins to close his eyes. 

Sam keeps his eyes half open, half closed, staring up at Bucky with that smile that's going to haunt Bucky forever if...if…

"If I never see you again-" Sam starts, voice weak and breaking, eyelids fluttering in a way that makes Bucky think he's about to faint and that'll be the end. 

"You will. You're gonna live through this-" Bucky assures, more to himself than Sam at this point. He's terrified of the possibility of losing Sam, so much so he's fighting with his brain to even acknowledge that such an outcome could occur. 

"Will your stubborn ass let me finish?" Sam says, a familiar tone encompassing his voice that makes some of the fear fade from Bucky's mind. 

Bucky gave a tiny nod, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes and threatening to fall. Sam's not even crying, despite all his injuries. Like he's just so numb that he can't feel any emotions besides the gentle affection and playful anger he's giving Bucky right now. 

"I love you. Have for a while." He says, clear enough that Bucky can't even question if he heard it right. The way Sam is looking at him, so soft and full of love, he knows Sam's being truthful. 

"I love you too." Bucky confesses quietly, holding Sam's hand tighter as he heard the whirl of a ship's engine in the distance, and in a minute the dirt around them was kicked up as the jet landed. 

Sam closed his eyes fully just as the medics began to exit the ship. 

They rushed Sam away, carrying him into the ship, leaving Sharon to coerce Bucky into getting up and accepting medical help. 

She helped him walk into the ship, and whoever was piloting was apparently given the order to immediately start flying as soon as everybody was in, the ground beneath them shook and Sharon struggled to lead Bucky to a cot on the opposite end of the ship from where the medics were tending to Sam. 

The one lone medic on the ship who wasn't helping Sam was careful as she gave him an IV, pain meds, and wrapped the burns on his arm. 

They removed his metal arm, saying it was damaged and needed to be fixed- Bucky didn't know if Parker or Shuri would get the job- and offered him a change of clothes. The sweater they gave him was a little small, and he had to tie up the sleeve on his right side, but it was alright. 

Because Sam was in surgery, alive. 

That's all they would tell Bucky, despite the hospital laboring under the notion that him and Sam were married and that their names were completely different- Sharon had given them the fake IDs a while ago, in case either one of them ended up in hospital, and they had both had a little laugh about the fact the IDs said they were husbands. Sharon had insisted the IDs were needed to keep press away, so that their actual names wouldn't show up in the hospital's system and any staff member could look it up, and that they'd only get information on the other's condition if they were listed as married. 

It seemed like such a joke at the time. 

And now here Bucky is, anxious out of his mind over Sam, kicking a damn vending machine in the hallway because it won't give him a damn water bottle. 

He’s probably kicking it a little harder than necessary, considering he has super strength and all, and he’s making a dent in the metal near the little opening where the water bottle should be coming out of- 

Suddenly, the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him makes him freeze in place. He’d really rather not get arrested for destruction of property, especially not now. 

When he turns to face the source of the noise, he sees a woman, maybe in her late thirties, with striking red hair cascading down her shoulders, looking at him with impatience written clearly across her face. 

He stares at her blankly for a moment, ocean blue eyes bleeding into Bucky’s own. She seems familiar, in a way Bucky can’t place in the wasteland of his memories. 

“...sorry.” He mutters out finally, stepping out of the way of the vending machine and instead retreating back to a bench underneath a window next to the machines. 

Her heels click and echo out in the empty hallway, and Bucky watches as she inserts a dollar into the vending machine with drinks, presses the button, and a water bottle falls gracefully from its shelf. She picks it up, goes over the other machine with random snacks as the options, and grabs both a granola bar and a bag of chips. So apparently, technology just didn’t like Bucky. Fair enough, considering he didn’t like it either. 

Bucky wishes there was someone else in the hallway- a nurse, a doctor, another person visiting their loved one- anybody. The longer the woman was around the more of an odd feeling of familiarity Bucky had. If anything happened, he’d like it if there were witnesses. 

She comes over and sits right next to him on the bench, and drops all of the items in Bucky’s lap unceremoniously. 

Bucky looks down at the bottle of water and food, and then looks back up at her. 

“You’re pale.” She says, her voice light and delicate and caring and not matching the harsh expression she’s keeping up at all. “Forget to eat?” She asks, a gentle smile gracing her lips as if she knows who he is. Maybe she does. Bucky can’t really remember anything about her, or even place her, but he knows she’s familiar to him, in a way. 

Bucky uses his hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t know who this woman is, but he feels like she’s somebody he can talk to. And right now, he really needs somebody like that. 

“The one who remembers for me isn’t here.” His voice is quiet and hoarse when he speaks, he almost doesn’t recognize it as his own. 

She nods in understanding. 

“You love him, don’t you?” She asks suddenly, and Bucky’s head snaps to look at her in surprise. 

She smirks a bit. “I’m good at knowing these things. I'm kinda all-knowing." 

Everything up to this point with this woman has been so odd Bucky decides to just let that one go. He’s not going to get an answer beyond that she just knew, anyway. 

“I...I just want him to be okay.” He feels like he’s going to cry, and the woman just keeps smiling sweetly at him as a single tear falls from his eye. It’s like a melodramatic scene in a romance movie, like the dumb cliche his life has turned into. 

“He will be.” She reassures, before rising from the bench and walking away. When Bucky looks up to thank her, for the food, for the water, for her time, she’s gone just as fast as she came. 

He hesitantly eats what she left and drinks the entire water bottle in one sip. 

Whoever she was, an angel, a spirit, actually just a regular human with great intuition, he would never know. 

But he does believe her, that Sam will be okay. 

He has to be. 

~~~~~~~

“Is he going to be okay?” Sharon asks the next morning, while Bucky was holding Sam’s hand and watching him like a hawk in his sedated sleep. 

“They think so, yeah.” Bucky says slowly, not making eye contact with Sharon for fear of bursting into tears. He had when he first saw Sam, and he greatly pitied the nurse that had to calm him down. He knew she probably had a lot of crying relatives and partners to console on a daily basis, he just felt guilty for adding to that pile.

Sam’s arm was okay, thankfully, it would just need a sling for a while and probably a little bit of physical therapy after that. It had been pretty bad, according to the doctor, and the surgery had been a grueling task. He had some minor burns on his back. His brain had minor swelling, so they put him in a medically induced coma until the swelling was down enough for him to be safe. The doctors still said, even when the swelling goes down, he could have amnesia. 

That was the scariest part, to Bucky, especially since he knew how it felt to not remember anything. To be so lost in your own mind trying to pick up pieces you knew were there but couldn't reach. He never wanted Sam to feel like that. 

“When will he wake up?” She asked, sitting down in another one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs next to Bucky. 

“Don’t know.” Bucky replied solemnly. He tried to keep his sentences short as possible. He could suppress his emotions as long as he wasn’t formally engaged in conversation. 

Sharon held her hand out, as if asking permission to give Bucky a hug. 

He bit his lip and nodded, leaning into her when she did wrap both arms around him and hold him tight. Bucky’s eyes welled and tears began to fall at that moment. He didn’t know Sharon well, they were only kinda friends and mostly just co-workers, but she was the only one here Bucky could confide into. He once again thought back to that woman at the vending machine, and how sure she was when she said that Sam would be okay. 

Bucky tried his best to believe her, while not getting his hopes up at the same time. 

The impossible mixture of emotions he was feeling right now boiled up, and he ended up sobbing into Sharon’s scarf. She just shushed him, rocking him back and forth like Sam had done after he had a nightmare. It wasn’t the same when she did it, but it was comforting, at the very least. 

When his tears finally stopped long enough for him to pull away from Sharon and wipe his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, he apologised for the little breakdown. 

“Don’t worry about it.” She stated calmly, like a Bucky hadn’t just ruined her scarf with an excessive amount of tears. “You are his husband, after all.” She added with a little smirk. 

Bucky gave a wet laugh. 

“All jokes aside…” She started, looking between Sam’s unconscious form and the way Bucky went back to gently holding Sam’s hand in his own. “...you love him, don’t you?” 

If this was any other time, Bucky would have been taken aback at the statement and would have denied the very possibility that he was in love with Samuel Thomas Wilson.  
But they’d already both admitted it to each other. And he was in love with him. 

He swallowed thickly and looked down at where their hands met, avoiding eye contact with Sharon yet again.

“Yes.” He said softly. “He said he did too.” 

“Falcon and Winter Soldier.” She said with a light, genuine smile. “Love story for the ages.” 

Bucky just held onto Sam’s hand tighter. 

When he woke up, then Bucky could believe that they could be a love story. 

Until then, Bucky could only hope they’d end up happy together. 

~~~~~~~~~~

He stays by Sam's side the entire day, only getting up once to get a snack and drink from the same vending machine as before- it actually worked this time, and Bucky thought maybe the machine pitied him and decided to actually give him what he paid for. 

It's dark outside when a nurse comes in, holding a clipboard and only looking up from it when she sees Bucky is still sitting next to Sam and holding his hand. 

Bucky just kind of...looks at her for a few moments. Neither of them talk for a while, and the nurse looks mildly startled about something. 

"...do I have to leave?" He asks quietly, and the nurse finally seems to snap out of whatever trance she'd been and just gives him a light smile. 

"Not at all. Spouses can stay around the clock." She says, changing one of the IV bags and checking the data on all the monitors they have hooked up to Sam. He feels a bit better, knowing he can stay here with Sam. 

"His vitals are looking good." She reports, smiling softly at Bucky again. He tries to fake a smile back up at her. 

"Try to get some rest." She tells Bucky as she leaves. 

He doesn't. 

~~~~~~~~

The next two days pass by like molasses. 

It's agonizing slow, despite everything Bucky tries to entertain himself with. He had the occasional call with Shuri, with her friendly criticism regarding how bad he'd managed to mess up his arm (of course it was nothing she couldn't fix- she's an absolute genius, and she said it was nice to work on something she was familiar with). He tried to sketch again, Steve had taught him back before the war but most of his knowledge regarding art was scrambled alongside everything else from that time. Still, Sam had a private room with a pretty good view of Manhattan out of a large window that he could attempt to sketch out. He also tries to watch whatever random sitcoms are on the bare bones channels the hospital carries and watch the birds fly past the window, but it doesn't distract him for long. 

Sam is still in the coma, the doctors say the swelling is going down slowly, but it's not good enough to pull him out of it. Bucky's trying not to lose hope, but with every passing hour it seems like Sam's going to be like this forever. He knows it's only been two days, but it feels like an entirety. 

He hadn't left Sam but for a few minutes to get a snack or drink from the vending machine since the first night, when he went back to their apartment to grab changes of clothes and sketchpad with a few pencils and erasers. Sharon texted him about every three hours from six am to ten pm, usually just a simple "anything?" and Bucky had to reply "nothing." It was all their texts consisted of at this point. 

The nurses come to take Sam for tests and scans to see if the swelling has gotten better every six hours. They take around twenty minutes on average, then bring him back, usually not saying a word. A neurologist comes in shortly after, and so far has only greeted Bucky with a stoic expression and a blank voice telling him that his fake husband still isn't ready to be pulled out of his artificial sleep. 

He hasn't gotten but a few hours of interrupted sleep every night. He doesn't need that much sleep, truthfully, so it doesn't bother him that much. 

It's on day six that the neurologist comes by with a slight smile, right after Bucky came back from the apartment to take a quick shower and return to Sam's bedside as soon as possible. 

"The swelling has gone down enough to bring him out of the coma. The anesthesiologist will be in soon, I suggest you leave while they bring him out, but afterwards you can come right back." The doctor assures, and the pure joy that Bucky feels in that moment is completely unparalleled. 

Bucky leaves as instructed when the anesthesiologist comes by to bring Sam out of the coma, returning right back to the hospital chair by Sam's side as soon as he can.

"He'll be confused when he first wakes up." The anesthesiologist explains. "His voice may be slurred, he may not remember everything at first. Including you or any memories associated with you." Bucky nodded, ever aware of his own relationship with memory loss. He does hold on hope that Sam will wake up and know everything that happened and tell Bucky he loves him, but he knows the chances are slim.

"He's also still on heavy pain killers and a light sedative. He'll probably be loopy as well." Bucky just nodded at the doctor's words again and watched Sam's eyelids fluttering every so gently, the first indication in six days that he's even alive. 

"But he'll wake up?" Bucky asked hesitantly, voice small and weak and full of hope yet so drained of it at the same time. 

The anesthesiologist smiled. 

"He should." They responded, before bidding goodbye to Bucky and a still unconscious Sam. 

Bucky sighed and held Sam's hand tight, wishing it would squeeze back. 

"Come on Sammy." Bucky urged. 

The birds chirping outside the window was the only response Bucky got. 

~~~~~~~

"...shit." 

It's a small mumble, barely audible. The only reason Bucky hears it is because of his super-hearing. 

He snaps his vision over to Sam, seeing his eyes half open, eyelids fluttering with every passing second. 

"Sammy?" Bucky asks, hope bubbling up in his tone with the nickname. Sam is still pale, arm in the sling and hooked up to IVs and machines and lying still in a hospital bed, but he's awake. 

Oh lord, he's awake. 

"T'at my name n'w?" Sam replies, a small smile tugging at his lips. His speech is slurred, lips moving slowly and uncoordinated, but Bucky knows that's from the medication and painkillers they've been pumping into him for nearly a week. 

Bucky ignores the comment, instead remembering what the anesthesiologist had told him, what he should do when Sam wakes up. 

Bucky lets go of Sam's hand for a moment, fumbling to click the "call nurse" button on the wall, before returning to hold his hand once again.

"What's your name?" Bucky asks first. Sam has done this routine with him before, after a breakdown, making sure he remembers everything. 

"Sam." He says, voice more sure now. "Wilson." He concludes with a breath. 

"Who am I?" 

"Pain in my ass." Sam comments, and yep, there's definitely a little smile on his face now. Bucky doesn't respond past a quiet huff of air, and eventually Sam states "Bucky. You're Bucky." 

Bucky takes a breath to steel himself before asking the next question. 

"Last thing you remember?" 

At that, Sam's eyes get glossy and pupils get slightly smaller. He looks like he's on cloud nine, reaching into his mind for the answer of that question, but he purses his lips as if he's scared to say. 

"Sammy?" Bucky asks again, just in case Sam had wandered into his own mind and needed to be pulled out. It happened to Bucky all too frequently. 

"'hink it was a dream." Sam's voice begins to slur again, his eyelids fluttering rapidly as if he desperately wants to shut them. 

"Just say it." Bucky coaxes, massaging Sam's hand ever so slightly in an attempt to make him as comfortable as possible. 

Sam gives a large, dopey smile. 

"You said you lov'd me." Sam begins to laugh, a little delicate and quiet laugh so different from his usual loud and boisterous laughs. Not that Bucky doesn't love those as well, but this one just feels... different. Like sometimes private. 

Like something he gets the pleasure of hearing. 

"Wasn't a dream, Sammy." Bucky says, giving a casual smile to Sam, and Sam does that little laugh again. 

"You love me." He says matter-of-factly. "Oh lord, and I love you too!" He says, almost shocked at himself, before humming the same song he soothes Bucky with after nightmares and finally letting his eyes fully shut again just as the nurse enters the hospital room. 

~~~~~~~~

"Y'know, Buck, you really don't need to take care of me." Sam insists, even as Bucky removes the bandages from Sam's back, exposing the still healing burns. 

It'd been a week since he woke up, all dopey and smiley and giggly. 

They're back home now, easing into a romantic relationship, with Bucky caring for Sam's healing injuries. 

Bucky was sleeping in Sam's bed now. On opposite sides, they didn't touch each other at all, unless it was a hard night with nightmares. 

Then they woke up and cuddled until they both were soothed enough to go back to sleep, waking up the next morning in a lazy tangle of limbs. 

Sharon was already teasing them for their relationship, being the only one outside of Sam and Bucky who knew. She'd say she was the third wheel, hanging back while Sam and Bucky were being all lovely-dovey. 

Bucky didn't really like the teasing, but Sam said he was cute when he blushed and his cheeks and ears got all red from embarrassment, so if it got Sam to call him cute and ruffle his hair, it can't be all that bad. 

"Yes, I do." Bucky replied as he warmed the burn ointment in his hands and began to apply it on Sam's back, careful to be gentle and not poke and prod the healing flesh too much. Sam bit back a hiss of slight pain, the tender skin feeling like it was being reignited. 

Bucky shushed softly as he finished, reapplying the bandages around Sam's chest and his back. 

He didn't want to admit that he was upset when Sam pulled his sweatshirt back over his head, covering up the large expanse of his beautiful chest- 

Bucky can't get carried away, at least not yet. They were taking this slow, just to ensure they wouldn't mess anything up. They really loved each other, they wanted to last forever. 

They wanted to spend their entire lives together, which even having that thought alone wasn't taking things slow, but who can blame a man for dreaming. 

He gave Sam a gentle kiss on the forehead as he helped him lay back down in bed as they finished preparing to go to sleep. 

Bucky climbed under the covers, tucking Sam in as well, and leaned in to kiss him on the forehead one last time before he tried to drift off. 

Sam took the lead, leaning up to meet Bucky's lips with his own, entangling them into a gentle, chaste bedtime kiss. 

They only stayed like that for a while, but the taste of Sam's lips lingered on Bucky's own as they both told laid their heads back on their respective pillow. 

"I love you." Bucky said as he held the blanket tight in his hold and closed his eyes. 

"Love you too." Sam muffled, almost subconsciously, as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

As Bucky felt himself begin to be sucked into his own sleep, he reminded himself that he was okay. That Sam was okay. 

That they were okay, and they always would be as long as they were together. 

And with that, he drifted off peacefully.

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely not hard to find out who the woman Bucky saw in the hospital hallway was, at least I hope not. Up to you if it was some kind of freaky hallucination or if she really was there. 
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cartersleia)


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